I have the flu. Symptoms include everything from voice loss to a lack of enough physical stamina to hold up a paperback. Painfully, I muster up enough energy to reach for the remote control.
On one of the three channels we receive with Peasant TV, the host has just finished his opening tirade and now a kind-faced lady in a blue dress turns toward the camera. "The happiest day in my life," she says, smiling, "will be the day my daughter leaves home. I regretted my decision to have her from day one – you know, the day she was born." Some in the audience heckle. Others applaud. The host excitedly clutches his microphone and runs to the next aisle. His pockets jingle. The phones light up.
I've finally found a few people who are even sicker than me. By the time the credits roll, others are beginning to share her sentiments. "Kids are a pain," says one. "They're-like-so-much-like-total-trouble, you know?"
I suppose I'd be lying if I didn't admit that parenting has its drawbacks. Three kids eat up to 50 per cent of a household's income, the statistics tell us. And that's just on Wednesday! However you look at it, children aren't the best financial move you'll ever make. Without children I wouldn't be stepping on Lego land mines after midnight. Or frantically searching for one shoe, a hammer, or the remote control. And just think of the vacations we've missed. The peace. The quiet. The evenings out. The weekends together – alone.
As I rest on my self-pity, the sound of little feet comes echoing down the hall. A little boy presses through the door followed by his little sister. He holds my dinner at an 18-degree angle. "Here's your first course, Daddy." Toast and butter never tasted better. A few minutes later he brings me my "final course," sneezes on it, then takes his little sister by the hand and quietly leaves the room. The whole thing is obviously choreographed by their mother.
Life with small children is full of moments like that. Moments that make us realize that we are part of a far bigger picture than our own little world. And although I may not be able to tell Sally Jessy Raphael or Larry King about the moments that have changed my life forever, none seems more important right now than the memory of a hot May day in 1986 when I first gazed into the eyes of my son. I had seen other babies. They were wrinkled and purple. But this baby was, well, wrinkled and purple, like the others … but truly beautiful. This was my son. Stephen.
We had prayed for this boy. And God answered with the first of three gifts which grow more precious each day. What could be more exciting than watching him grow? Teaching him to ice skate? Showing him how to catch a ball? Or watching him smack a line drive just over your head? How do you put a price tag on the joy I felt the day he suddenly stopped in the midst of a wrestling match, wrapped his arms around my neck and whispered, "Love you, Daddy."
"Lord, thank you for the privilege of parenthood," I pray. "For these three gifts you have entrusted us with. I give them to You again. Soon these halls will echo only with the memory of their laughter. Help us to make the most of each moment and point them to You each day."
By the way, the flu is gone now. It seems that I passed it on to my wife, and I just sent her dinner – in the hands of a three-year-old.
